Obfuscate
by murphyaloysius
Summary: Opens with the resurrection of the Dark Lord. However, will employ a non-linear timeline told dually by Voldemort and Cedric. I may bring in Edward from Twilight for purely stylistic purposes, since Cedric dies.


**Warnings: **none. Surprsingly safe.

**Disclaimers: **if I owned the HP world, the actual world would be...uh...well...littered with craters with flaming purple zebras. (kudo's to anyone who knows where I got that. and _no_ not you bayesiankitten69)

**Note: **new author, criticisms are welcomed with chocolates.

I hear the chill voice, see the light- the same mesmerizing colour as harry's eyes- shoot toward me. There is still a split second to decide. But my brain refuses to acknowledge this reality. This is too fast, too soon. I thought I would have years before I would need to make this choice. Then it is too late. The spell envelopes me gently and wrenches me away from all I hold dear. My last thought is that dying is surprisingly peaceful.

~the dark lord is squishy~

From my position in the weakling's arms, I can see the shock in his eyes. Perhaps my victory has not quite sunk into his unfortunately thick skull. Wormtail hisses a binding, and the brat is easily imprisoned against my late father's headstone.

I feel mildly irritated at how easy capturing and subduing my 'marked equal' is. Surely he should at least be able to put up an interesting fight?

My brilliant, albeit slightly paranoid mind immediately comes up with complex subterfuges Dumbledore could be weaving. But no, that seems ridiculous even to me. The boy cannot possibly have already mastered the wandless arts, and I can feel the holly and phoenix wand held within Wormtail's grasp. Besides, the goat man would never manipulate a fourteen year old boy to his death. His morals immovably prevent such a Machiavellian action.

"_Hurry!" _I urge, because really, how long can it take to heat a stone cauldron?

"It is ready, Master." Unctuous as always.

"_Now..."_

My view shifts dizzyingly as he unceremoniously drops me into the cauldron. On my head. Oh, he will have a long and painful death. Later of course, can't kill off the helpful minions immediately.

Wormtail screams, then abruptly cuts off. Good. The idiot is more afraid of me than he is in pain, and his severed arm plops satisfyingly into the cauldron. Anticipation swells as I wait for the traditional vial of blood, but then-Wait what?

Realization hits. One: even evil, malformed, possessed abominations will black out if hit with enough force over the head. Two: the idiot had somehow managed to add the _three_ ingredients in the wrong order.

I panic and feebly thrash against the sides of the heavy cauldron. I might have screamed a bit too.

The ritual shouldn't hurt this much, even altered, and somewhere in the back of my head I make _detailed_ plans to torture Wormtail _multiple times _at a later date.

Then, I am on fire. I feel each inch my bones elongate, each sinew as it stretches taunt and attaches. I can name them all too. Bloody eidetic memory.

Time stretches, warps, and then I am rising past the rim of the cauldron, past the low tombstones, and finally stop at the eye level of the boy who lived. His green eyes stare at me in horror, then he blushes.

What.

That was when I realized that Wormtail forgot to bring me my robes. Definitely torture _immediately_, then dinner for Nagini.

[the following dialogue have been more or less directly lifted from GoF, except from another perspective and minor alterations]

"My wand, Wormtail." I allow my bloodlust and irritation to seep into my decidedly high voice. Huh. Well, there are creepy and eerie effects associated with a girl's voice in a man's body.

I wrench my wand from his sweaty grasp, and try not to grin too widely. For all Wormtail's incompetence and cowardice, he _did _come for me when all my followers gave up hope. As much as I hate to admit, his efforts have returned me to a form that could walk.

A swish, and dark robes appear. I feel my magic stretching out, settling in patterns centered on me and the brat.

I ignore him for now, and stalk closer to Wormtail. His eyes hold equal parts terror and greed. And something that might have been lust, if not for the fact that I am a terrifying, bald, snake-faced Dark Lord, and he a rat animagus. "My Lord..." he manages to choke out, "My Lord...you promised...you did promise..."

I did. To torture him multiple times, then to feed the remains to Nagini. But somehow, I get the slightly nagging feeling the rat was referencing another promise.

"Hold out your arm." I hiss instead.

He flinches, but the terror seems to have lessened. Damn. Losing my touch.

Instead, he holds out his right arm. Eyes holding relief, gratitude, and hope. "Oh Master. Thank you master." Oh right. That promise. Too bad.

"Your other arm." Watching hope drain from their eyes is the best part.

"Master, please..._please..._" Even if the pleading grates.

I viciously press my wand against his arm, and revel in the scream he tries to muffle. Of course, good old pain is quite fun to watch as well. Long fingers lightly caress the now vividly inky mark as I half whisper to myself , "So it is back. They will all have noticed it," I release the spell, letting the odious lump collapse against the ground. Standing, I brush off my robes and continue, "and now, we shall see...now we shall know."

A smirk curls on my lips as I throw back my head to stare about the dark graveyard and the stars above. "How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it," I whisper to the dark sky, "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

The graveyard remains conspicuously empty, and I begin to pace. My eye catches on the boy, barely struggling against the ropes binding him, and I smile automatically. In victory, of course in victory, whatever other reason could I have to smile.

"You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father. A Muggle and a fool..." how pleasant watching him and the older couple crumple, lifeless, to the ground, expressions frozen in surprise and horror at the face of retribution.

"Very like your dear mother. But both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child..." and perhaps, that nagging emotion worming its way into my gut is slight jealousy, at love so freely offered, whilst I could only choose to kill. "and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death..." But even I would rather have had love.

My laugh is more bitter than the situation calls for, but no matter. He is too young to understand the full nuance of human expression. But then, I realize that I do want him to understand, a final measure of forgiveness before I kill him. "You see that house upon the hillside, Potter?" Of course he can't see, bound as he is, with his back to the hill, but the house is not important. "My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was..." and there was the whole, sordid affair.

"He didn't like magic, my father..." I trail off, violently suppressing the surprising hurt as I continue, "He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage." He should understand, the bitterness of missing the love of his parents. But of course not. The darling of the Wizarding World would never be shunned and feared as a skinny, magical boy among muggles. And all my fear and hatred had concentrated onto one man...

"And I vowed to find him...to revenge myself upon him, that fool who gave me my name. _Tom Riddle." _I stop abruptly. This has gone too far, further than even what I allow myself in the lonely hours of the morning.

"Listen to me, reliving family history," my voice is quiet as I wrest control back from my emotions, "why, I fear I am growing quite sentimental...But look! My true family returns..."

Then they arrive, robes as immaculate as I had last called them thirteen years ago. My magic rises up at the sight of them: whole, healthy, and standing before me as if it were yesterday.


End file.
